What would you do if you lived 4000 miles away from where you’re supposed to be? Me? I choose Jack.

Two shots with a splash of amaretto in a glass of coke. A pub I used to go to would call this mixture “Wrath.” I don’t really have a name for it, but it gets me through the longer nights alone. There’s not much else to do when you live in a middle-of-nowhere town in the American Midwest.

I did have dreams. I was supposed to be this hotshot director for a film company in London, but after 5 weeks as an intern, the company spent all its money on commercial shoot in Italy, went bankrupt, and fired the interns first. So back to my hometown I had to go.

It wasn’t all a waste. I met this wonderful man. He was charming and funny, and he actually let me crash at his apartment without trying to take advantage of me. Where in the world am I going to meet another man like that? He had nice friends too. They welcomed me into their little “squad” and I finally felt at home for the first time in my life.

Of course the government says I’m not allowed to be there without a visa, so here I am at a shitty bar, drinking “Wrath.”

The usual crowd is at this bar. Most of the guys have tried to buy me a drink at this point, but I refuse. I don’t want to be seen as a potential partner to anyone here. There is one person in particular that I do not recognise. A woman. Her skin is dark, as are her eyes, but her hair is a magnificent shade of turquoise. She is wearing a white dress and I can clearly see that she is not wearing a bra underneath. I decide that she is probably a feminist or hippy of some kind and go back to sipping my drink. No need to judge people's life choices.

I notice her again as a pair of unsupported breasts are rested on the bar right next to me. She has a very wide toothy grin and is flashing it in my direction.

“You seem unhappy.” She says to me. It is obviously not a question.

“Try finding someone here who isn’t.” I respond. Unsure of why she is talking to me.

“The men here are unhappy because society has put pressure on them to provide. The women here are unhappy because ‘nice guys’ aren’t usually very nice. You are unhappy because you are the only person out of place in this room.” Once again. She is stating things instead of questioning them. I have simply decided that she talks too much.

“You talk too much.” I tell her.

“I’ve been told that before.” She seems quite proud of this fact. “I would like to help you, as it is in my nature to put things back where they belong.”

“Well. Unless you have $11,000 and a UK visa, then I’m stuck right here.”

“There is another way. I can not put you back as you wish to be, but I can at least put you on the correct streets. The world would feel a little more balanced with you in your place.”

I have no idea what she is talking about, but if I can get back to the streets of London, then I can find my man. If I find him, then I’m sure everything will be okay.

I take one last big drink from my cup. “Being on the streets there would be better than being here, but nothing is free. What would I owe you?”

“My child, all you have to do is survive.” With this odd statement, she places her hand on my shoulder. I feel the world melt away from me. My vision goes dark. I think I have fallen off of my bar stool...